Supersonic Holy Cows: Neville's Summer Adventure
by ImperialAnirudh
Summary: ONE-SHOT; Neville got his dear uncle put in prison. Needless to say, Algie wasn't pleased...


**SUPERSONIC HOLY COWS: NEVILLE'S SUMMER ADVENTURE**

* * *

Harry Potter and all associated characters are the property of J. K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership of the same.

* * *

A.N: This is an omake based on **Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin** by **The Sinister Man. CHALLENGE:** What does Neville Longbottom do in the summer? The joke is that every summer, Neville goes off and has some insane Indiana Jones adventure that he just hand-waves off. Make a summer adventure for Neville Longbottom, as outlandish as you want, and when he returns home again, regaling the story back to his friends, he brushes it off.

* * *

 _1999, somewhere near New Delhi_

Neville Longbottom looked out of the circular window of the aero-thingy, and admired the landscape rushing past below.

 _"You have to admit,"_ Neville thought, as an ornate temple passed by on the _very_ distant ground, " _these muggles sure do know how to build cities."_

"Sir?" He looked up to see an olive-skinned air-hostess smiling at him. "We will be landing shortly. I'm afraid, you'll have to put on your seatbelt."

Neville stared dumbly at her for a moment, and then remembered the curious muggle idea of _safe_ transport. He returned the smile, and turned his attention to the buckle-and-strap device.

 _"A_ seat _with a belt. Preposterous. Next they'll be adding boots."_ Neville paused, and thought back to the last time he had used the Knight Bus, an excursion which had resulted in a buxom Suede tourist falling into his lap, while his then girlfriend was sitting right beside him (that was the end of _that_ one). _"I suppose, they do have_ some _merit."_

* * *

 _Ten minutes later_

"You have arrived at Indira Gandhi International Airport. The outside temperature is 37 degrees centigrade. The local time is… "

 _"Apparently, muggle modes of transport are_ courteous _too,"_ he mused, thinking of a certain conductor-driver duo back in Britain, " _perhaps I'll ask Hermione to crusade about_ that. _If nothing, it should keep the house elves safe for the time being."_

Neville Longbottom stepped out into the New Delhi heat, seventy-six hundred kilometres away from home, location-wise, and 4 years away, time-wise.

* * *

 _2003, Low Security Wing, New Azkaban, somewhere near Cardiff (5 hours earlier, from Neville's perspective)_

The man in front of him did not look up, content to just cradle his once-a-week cup of lukewarm tea.

The room was bare - a single mattress, a chamber pot, and a chair, and contained two people. One was dressed in prisoner garb, and the other, a teenager in the robes typical of the affluent.

"Uncle Algie?" The prisoner gave an almost undetectable nod, to show he had heard the younger man. "I really need to know where you hid all your dead cats. They're stinking up the Manor like anything."

The other man made a sound that may have sounded like a vindictive laugh if coming from a more used throat.

"Oh, come on. What did you do, stuff them in the walls, and placed a preservation charm on them just when they were starting to rot? They aren't even showing up on the bleedin' sensing charms!"

Algernon Longbottom sipped his tea.

Neville Longbottom buried his head in his hands. He reached home an hour later, and fell asleep rather suddenly, not noticing the Unspeakable-grade bit of Ancient Indian rune-work which had been transferred to the seat of his trousers.

In Cardiff, a prisoner still sipped his tea (he tried to make it last at least a few days), sitting on a bed in front of a now absolutely rune-free rickety old chair.

* * *

 _1999, North Indian Ministry of Magic (present time, from Neville's perspective)_

"So, Mr…. Longbottom. You're basically saying that you 'appeared' in the middle of the Thar Desert, with no idea of how you got there, and that there is a nineteen year old version of you running around in England. You then took a flight from Jaipur to Delhi, because, going by the earlier statement you made, you don't exist in this world, not at your current age, that is, and muggle airline officials are easier to… confund than wizards. You then came here, to Agra." said the receptionist for the time and space department of the North Indian Ministry, which was inexplicably situated under the Taj Mahal. "Did I miss anything?"

"Ah, not really," replied Neville, sure that they were going to take him to the loony bin.

"Take this," the receptionist handed Neville what looked like a shoe with a pointy end (a _jooti,_ his brain supplied)," its a device similar to your European portkeys, except that it can transverse time as well as space, though it can only be used to _return_ people to their original times. We are not very sure why, even though this is suspiciously common here"

Neville nodded slowly.

"Right then," the receptionist took him out onto the street, and tilted his head as if listening to something, "the cows should be arriving soon."

"The… cows?"

"Oh yes, the Supersonic Holy Cow Express. It's the prevalent mode of transport here. Now, _you_ have to ride one of the black ones with bells. It will drop you off at a disillusioned part of the border, and then you activate the _jooti_ -key, which will deposit you in Blighty, same place, though you would have lost a month or two. You see, it makes quite a loud noise, and no one will question it near the border. The Indian government will blame it on Pakistan, they will blame it on us, and religious ones will blame it on one of the million gods we have here."

Seeing Neville's rather squeamish expression, he continued, " _Koi badi baat nahin hai._ Just ride them, how do you say it, rodeo style. And hold tight if you dont want to slide off the rear."

"Aren't there any seat belts?"

"Of course not. We would never attach a belt to a cow. Here's your ride."

The receptionist tossed Neville on to a passing supersonic-holy-black-cow-with-bells, which seems to have slowed down for the time being.

There weren't even any in-transit meals.

"I'll have to floo the Department of Magical Transport once I get home," Neville muttered, "our portkeys and that dratted bus are really not much better."

* * *

 _2003, two months after Neville's disappearing act_

"… and really, the muggle modes of transport are so much more comfortable."

"Well, they _do_ tend to be more sensible," Hermione said smugly from where she was reading _Magicks of the East._

"Though, honestly having the ministry of North India under the Taj Mahal is not that weird _,_ " said her husband, Blaise.

"Oh and all this was happening around four years ago, I might have been the spark cause for the Kargil War between India and Pakistan and I rode on a Supersonic Holy Cow. Best not to mention that to grandmother, cruelty to animals and all that." Neville said nonchalantly.

There was silence. Neville looked up from his herbology text. All his friends were staring at him.

"I do hope the transport wasn't too uncomfortable. I've heard riding is rather painful the first time," said Luna, from where she was floating above the couch in a cross-legged position. No one quite knew whether she made such comments purposefully or not.

"So wait, _you_ were the one riding past my hometown, shirtless, on a cow and screaming like a banshee the entire time?" exclaimed Parvati. His girlfriend, Lavender glared. Neville paled. Ron remained confused. Everyone recovered soon enough. This was, after all, _Neville Longbottom's_ latest summer adventure.

* * *

 _R &R:) Praise and Flames, both will be appreciated_


End file.
